Rule Breaker: A Novel of the Breeds (45 page)

He ate her decadently, licking at her juices, growling in hunger as the impression of senses becoming immersed in her taste, in her need, slipped through her mind.

He fucked her pussy with his tongue as though he’d craved the taste of her forever. And maybe he had. Years of fantasy were drifting through his mind and he made no attempt to hide them from her. And this had been one of his favorites. Lifting her to him, licking her like a favored treat to his starving tongue.

Over and over he thrust into the needy channel, filling it with his tongue, her juices clinging to his lips each time he drew back, his gaze locked with hers.

Holding her thighs apart with his broad forearms, he kept her opened to him, wicked and hungry.

And he let her watch.

Let her watch as he pulled back, her juices clinging between her folds and his lips like nectar. Each inward stroke of his tongue came with the flickering licks inside her as he tasted her. Devoured her.

And Gypsy was certain she couldn’t survive. Her clit was throbbing almost painfully, the need for sensation, the need to come, to explode driving her insane.

God, she needed. Needed him.

Pulling back, his stroking tongue moved higher, his fingers returning, pushing inside her as his lips surrounded the little bud of her clit and burned her senses with his hunger, with her need.

Impaling the heated depths of her pussy, his fingers parted the sensitive flesh there, scissored and stroked, stretching her, spilling more of her juices as she lifted to him, desperate now to escape into the chaotic pleasure awaiting her.

His tongue curled around her clit, sucked it into the heat of his mouth, worked his mouth around it, rubbed at it with his tongue, growled, the sound rumbling with vibrations of sensual greed and striking at a trigger she hadn’t known her sensuality possessed.

She exploded.

Crying out, bearing down on his fingers a second before she dissolved around the penetrating pleasure, Gypsy felt herself flying apart at the seams.

She didn’t exist anymore, not physically.

She was pleasure. Nothing but an erotic star going supernova in Rule’s arms.

Her hips jerked against the suckling pressure of his lips around her clit and she exploded there a second later. The alternate explosions ruptured through her senses, throwing her higher, taking her further into a world where nothing but sensation ruled her now.

The fierce explosions were still sending aftershocks racing through her when he came to his knees, lifted her hips to him and watched, oh God he watched, as the head of his cock began pushing into the clenched entrance it sought.

She felt every molecule of sensation.

The heat. The stretch of flesh thicker than the fingers he’d pushed inside her to prepare her. The hard throb of the crest, the power in the iron-hard shaft.

“That’s it, baby,” he growled, sweat easing down his chest in thin rivulets as his eyes darkened, glowed brighter. “Take me just like that. All tight and slick, with all those pretty juices clinging to me as that tight pussy sucks me right in.”

Another cry slipped free of her lips as she realized she was being pulled straight into the steady climb to another orgasm before the first one was finished tossing her through the sensual storm that had possessed her.

“Rule.” One hand gripped one of his wrists as the other tore at the blankets beneath her. “Just do it. Oh God, I don’t know if I can stand this.”

Pleasure was a racking, torturous ecstasy as he took her slowly. So slowly, letting her feel every inch of his cock ease inside her, parting her with the wide, blunt head, staking claim, branding her inner flesh with erotic heat.

“That snug little cunt sucks at me like a hungry mouth,” he groaned, the explicit words more involuntary, an expression and extension of his pleasure more than anything else. “Fuck yeah, suck me right in, baby. Tighten that hungry pussy around me.”

A half growl, half snarl left his chest as she did just that involuntarily to the sound of the sexy order.

“Dream of this.” He pushed in deeper, his hips flexing, driving his erection inside her another inch, pulling back, sinking in again as she began to writhe beneath him.

It was so good.

It was too good.

She didn’t know if she could survive it. If she could survive the coming explosion.

“Rule!” She tried to scream out for him as he suddenly powered inside her.

Taking her in a single, deep stroke, burying his cock balls-deep inside the tight inner shudders of her pussy as sensation began to pulse, to throb inside her senses as she felt her orgasm building.

“God, I feel your pleasure,” he groaned as she stared back at him in dazed, nearly uncomprehending hunger. “It surrounds me, Gypsy. Strokes me.”

As his did her.

Pulling back, he drove inside her again, but this time, he didn’t pause. He pushed his arm beneath her hips, lifted her hips and began fucking her with a hunger torn out of his control.

If he’d sensed her pleasure, she swore she had to feel his. The ultra tight, rippling flesh gripping him, stroking him as he sank to the very depths, his cock head burying itself in giving flesh, as if the blunt crest had buried itself in liquid lightning.

Pleasure struck at the sensitive crest, wrapped around the shaft, stroked and flicked and licked with electric pleasure that only built with each inward stroke until he was shafting inside her harder, the pleasure climbing, taking her, sealing her to him, until it suddenly pierced both their senses with blow after blow of such ecstasy that Gypsy wondered if they would survive it.

Her pussy tightened further around him, flexing and rippling as the first hard jet of his release pulsed inside her. Then that swelling extended from his shaft, just beneath the head of his cock. It became quickly erect, tucking in that narrow crevice behind her clit and increasing the sensation, the brutal pleasure with bolt after bolt of sensation even as the pulse of his release ejaculated inside her.

When it was over, his weight partly collapsed upon her, the rest boneless against the bed, exhaustion seeped through her. Through every muscle, every bone and cell, until it came to a shadowed, hidden part of her soul.

But Rule knew it was there. When he had found it, why he hadn’t tried to force it open, she wasn’t certain.

An impression of gentle chastisement touched her senses then.

No, he would never force it from her.

He would never take it from her.

It was hers to give as nothing else ever could be.

It was more precious than her love, more dear to him than her laughter or her smiles, she realized.

Gypsy tentatively released the final shield she’d built years ago between herself and anyone who threatened to touch her heart.

But Rule had done more than threaten to touch it. He owned it. He owned every part of her, even this fragile, so very vulnerable part of her soul.

For the first time in nine years, Gypsy gave her trust.

Completely. Willingly and without hesitation she bound herself to her Breed, both man and inner beast.

He found the energy to lift his head, to brush his lips against hers, then meet her gaze.

They didn’t have to speak.

They could feel.

They didn’t have to make vows.

It was all there already.

In that link that would never have existed if man hadn’t thought he could create life, if the Almighty hadn’t taken those creations and made them his own.

A link that gave her Breed full access, heart and soul.

But gave Gypsy complete, endearing love, dedication and an assurance, even if tomorrow didn’t come, right now, here in his arms, she was finally complete.

EPILOGUE

“She was the child we did not believe we would be blessed with.” Orrin Martinez sat with his two sons and their families. Their wives and children.

President of the Navajo Nation, Ray Running Wolf Martinez; his wife, Maria; and daughter, Claire. Orrin’s younger son and legal advisor, the widowed Terran Martinez, and his two daughters, Isabelle and Chelsea. Behind Isabelle stood her mate, the Coyote Breed negotiator, Malachi Morgan. Sitting just behind Orrin and to his side was the Navajo Nation Headquarters head of security, Audi Johnson. Behind him stood his wife, Jane, an
d their daughter, Liza Johnson, as well as Liza’s Wolf Breed mate, Stygian Black.

The entire family of Orrin Martinez as well as his lawyer faced two Lion Breeds and their mates, who had been summoned by the head of the chiefs of the Six Tribes to answer the question of their declaration of kinship to the Martinez family.

Rule sure hoped Isabelle had a little thankfulness in her heart after the secret he’d revealed for her. To save her father from a rash decision that would have destroyed her, based on another’s lies, Rule had admitted to Terran that Malachi had never been in the labs where his baby sister, Morningstar Martinez, had been held captive for so many years before she was murdered beneath the cruel scalpel of the scientists that worked there.

Rule and Lawe had been in those labs, and they knew Malachi hadn’t been there. They were the children of Morningstar, and whoever had come in contact with her during those years, they had known of it.

Rule and Lawe sat in front of the wide desk of the head of the chiefs of the Six Tribes, facing the family Orrin claimed. They were part of this family by blood, separated from them by intent.

As Orrin was one of the chiefs of the Six Tribes, his position on the Nation Council was assured. His opinion was highly respected. Orrin was well known for his honesty, his integrity. His son Ray had gained the vote as president of the Nation mainly because of his father’s backing. But Orrin was also known just as well for his missing daughter and his determined search for her until twelve years past, when the Breeds had
officially
notified him of her death.

“Her mother, Aliva,” Orrin continued, “died of grief two months after we received news that she had died.” He shook his head, his voice thickening. “I, Ray, and especially Terran, we followed every lead, searched every place on this Earth we could search and we could not find our precious Star. The grief was more than her mother could bear.”

It was all Rule could do not to sneer. The only thing that held the curl of disgust from his lips was confusion. Confusion because Orrin knew he had received all the information he had needed to find his
precious Star
, and he had ignored it. Yet the old man sat across from him, his face weathered and lined, his black eyes filled with tears that were blinked back quickly, and his scent one of honesty.

For his mate, for his Gypsy, he waited and listened. Feeling her hand on his shoulder, her silent support at his side, he did as he’d promised and listened with an open mind.

Orrin Martinez was one of the few whose scent was untainted by more deceit than truth, and Rule was damned if he knew how the old man did it.

He listened silently, his gaze drawn to the DNA results Orrin had demanded and now held in his gnarled hand. That hand shook, trembling so hard the chief finally laid it as well as the papers on the desk. Propping his elbow on the arm of the chair he sat in, Orrin bent his arm and covered his lips with his hand to hide the slight, supposedly uncontrollable tremor there.

He was lying, Rule knew he was lying, but he was damned if he could smell the scent of it. That shouldn’t be possible.

He and Lawe both had risked not just their lives, but the lives of their younger brother and sister to send the proof of Morningstar’s existence, her location and the fate she would soon face were she not rescued quickly.

And no one had come for her.

She and her Coyote mate, Elder, had died in an agony worse than any Rule could envision.

He stared at Orrin now, the long, thick gray braids that fell over the front of his shoulders, a traditional style that the Navajo males rarely used now. The appearance of tradition would have been comforting if Rule didn’t know the man he was facing. If he wasn’t well aware how the Martinez family had turned their backs on his and Lawe’s mother while pretending to search so desperately for her.

It sickened him.

“This report states there were four children.” Orrin’s head lifted then, his gaze moving to Rule rather than Lawe, the older twin by several minutes.

Rule was slouched back in his chair, one booted foot propped on his knee, his black uniform pants still smeared with dirt along one side. Unlike Lawe, who had changed into fresh jeans and a white shirt that his mate, Diane, had waiting for him when they came in from yet another search in the desert for the Coyote teams amassing there.

Diane stood with Lawe, as Gypsy stood with Rule. The women stood between them, silent, listening, a steady strength for their mates.

Lawe sighed as though weary when Rule refused to answer the question concerning that younger brother and sister.

“There were four children.” Lawe finally spoke. “Before fertilization, the DNA of the sperm and ova used were mutated with the Lion DNA. Using the same patriarchal samples, years later, the scientists mutated those with Cheetah and Coyote DNA. The Coyote DNA was that of the one called Elder, the head of their security forces who died with her. Our brother and sister were taken from the labs and moved only days after Morningstar’s and Elder’s deaths.”

“Why were they moved?” Orrin asked, his gaze going once again in Rule’s direction.

Not once did anyone ask why a Coyote was murdered with Morningstar. And Rule had no intention of answering any of the questions directed at him.

“They wouldn’t stop crying.” Lawe finally answered that one as well.

Rule remembered far too well those hours and days after Morningstar’s screams had been silenced. The quiet, inconsolable sobs of the two youths refused to be silenced.

“What do you mean? They wouldn’t stop crying?” Orrin tuned to Lawe, obviously tiring of his game and his attempt to force Rule to answer his questions.

At that point, Rule was damned sick of the charade, though. He leaned forward, dropping his foot to the floor, his gaze locked on the old man.

“Rule,” Lawe muttered warningly.

Beside him, Gypsy tensed, her fingers caressing his shoulder where they lay.

“Have you watched the documentaries?” he asked the chief coolly.

“Rule.” Malachi, the Coyote Breed that Terran Martinez’s daughter Isabelle had mated, moved as though to step forward, or to protest.

Orrin’s hand jerked up in a gesture of silence.

“Let him speak,” he bit out, anger heating his expression as Rule’s gaze locked with his.

“When we cried, when we showed emotion we were taught from birth not to show, then at that age, there were three options.” He held up three fingers as Lawe growled his name once more. “They use that Breed as ‘prey’ in a hunt for the older Breeds, usually Breeds at their home lab. Those raised with them, to test the older littermates’ savagery and lack of loyalty to their own.” He lowered his little finger, leaving his ring and middle fingers raised.

“Dammit, Rule,” Lawe bit out, his warning strengthened with an underlying growl.

Rule smiled, cold, hard, and continued. “They can transfer the Breed to another lab for research, or if they’re considered worth rehabilitating, then they’re retrained.” His ring finger went down, leaving only the insult of the middle finger lifted in unconcern. “Or they’re just taken out and shot like a rabid animal of no worth.” He took his good old easy time lowering his middle finger.

For a moment, a surge of agony filled the room. Male and female pain alike whipped around them. But in that second of uncontrollable emotion, there was also the briefest sense of smug satisfaction.

Someone here knew the truth, knew Morningstar’s fate and the horror of how she had died.

“You are a disrespectful little bastard,” Orrin snapped out painfully.

“And you’re a coldhearted son of a bitch to sit here before your family and pretend you knew nothing of your daughter’s fate or the children she left behind when you were the one who ignored the plea we sent to
you!
” He stabbed his finger in the old man’s direction. “To ignore the knowledge that she would die were she not rescued.” Rule came furiously to his feet with a snarl as his mate’s concern reached out to him, wrapped around him. “You received the file, the maps, the pictures, all of it, nearly two weeks before the scientists dissected the living bodies of both
your daughter and the Breed who gave his life to try to save her
. And yes, old man,” he sneered. “Her youngest cried. Sobs that would not be silenced, and for that, they were in all likelihood killed as well.”

He was furious, enraged. Slapping his hands down on the desk as he leaned forward, nearly staggering beneath the shock rippling through the room, he snarled into Orrin’s pale face. “Now, what else would you like to fucking know?”

“Rule, this isn’t helping,” Gypsy whispered, and he could smell her tears, feel them along the link he shared with her. A pain she felt for his suffering, for the fears that still haunted him.

Moving to the opposite side, Gypsy pressed her forehead against his back, letting him know she was there and the strength of her love open to him if he needed it.

“Rule, enough!” Lawe surged to his feet, his hand landing firmly on Rule’s shoulder, but rather than pulling him back, his fingers gripped it for a long second in shared pain, and in warning. “Enough, brother.” He leaned closer. “Sense what I sense.”

Rule pulled back. His senses merged with his brother’s, something that rarely happened now that they both had their mates.

The shock was horrifying. It rolled and built, pulled from the hearts and souls of those who had loved Morningstar.

All but one, and that one wasn’t Orrin.

Rule focused on each, finally following Lawe’s gaze to the son standing still and silent behind his father, between the wife and daughter there to support him.

“How horrible,” Ray whispered, as though they expected a reaction from him.

A Coyote growl rumbled through the room, followed by a Wolf’s, as both Malachi and Stygian began sensing what Rule and Lawe had already tracked.

“You stink of a lie, President Martinez.” Malachi turned slowly to face the other man with icy suspicion.

“No . . .” Orrin came quickly to his feet, disbelief surging from him as he stared at his son.

“We have proof the package was sent, and proof that it was signed for,” Lawe stated, facing Ray as the president stared back at him with all the cunning deceit of the most depraved mind. “By Orrin Martinez.”

“No . . .” Orrin whispered, shaking with such strength that he seemed to shudder. “I saw no package. I saw no proof that my precious daughter lived.”

Ray’s eyes flicked between the four Breeds facing him. “I signed for nothing . . .”

“Do not lie.” Malachi, closest to him, caught the scent first. “Already I smell the stink of your deception, Ray, and it goes deep. What betrayal have you given the father you owe for your life and for your freedoms?”

“There were pictures of her children,” Lawe stated softly. “Especially of the girl. The baby. She was only five. She was the one Morningstar called her precious Little Bit, because she was so tiny.”

Orrin appeared to stumble, pain resonating from him as he stared back at Ray in shock.

“What have you done, Ray?” he whispered. “She was your sister. She loved you as she loved no other.”

“There’s proof someone of the Nation was supplying the Genetics Council with the names of Navajo girls whose family line showed a strong psychic connection,” Lawe stated softly.

Rule could feel a part of his soul bleeding. He had treated this old man with disgust and disrespect, despite the truth that resonated even in his scent, because of the deception of the son.

“Morningstar cried for her brother.” Rule couldn’t hold back the rumble of the animal’s growl. “From the time we were babes she would cry for her Ray,” he sneered. “She would vow that her brother, so strong and loving, was coming for her. And all that time, it was the brother she so loved who destroyed her.”

Ray stood, staring back at them all with icy disdain, refusing to speak.

“One of our own was selling our girls to the evil of those labs?” Orrin whispered painfully. “No. Ray. Tell them you did not do this horrible thing. Tell them.”

“You know I wouldn’t, Father.” Sincerity filled his expression despite the coolness in his voice. “Star was my sister. I loved her . . .”

No Breed refuted the words, but the stench of the lie had all four losing control of the dangerous, predatory growls that rumbled in their chests.

“He’s lying.” It was Terran who spoke up, tears escaping his eyes as his daughters moved to surround him. “I came to him with the proof of my suspicions that someone within Window Rock was working with the Genetics Council since before Star was taken. He took the file I’d been putting together for decades and later swore it had been stolen. As though I’m so stupid as to not keep a backup.” Fists clenched and rage poured from him. “You bastard. You bastard. We could have saved her. We could have brought her home.”

Malachi and Stygian both jumped for Terran as he moved to grab his brother, murder firing in his eyes as the scent of vengeance began to pour from him. Like a sweet-smelling acid, it burned at the senses and the knowledge that given the chance, Terran would indeed kill him.

Even Ray’s daughter, Claire, and wife, Maria, had stepped back from him, staring at him in horror.

Sneering at his brother, Ray straightened his jacket with a jerk. “I’ll be damned if I have to stand here and listen to this.” Turning to his wife and daughter, he snapped, “We’re leaving.”

Gripping his wife’s arm and pulling her behind him, he was halfway to the door before he realized Claire hadn’t followed.